Last Resort
by rocaddict
Summary: Last Resort songfic. Heero and Duo are I guess reflecting post-war, and Duo finds out an unfortunate secret of Heero's. Warnings inside, feel free to R&R (flames added to Algebra 2 bonfire)


**Rating: PG-13**

**Warnings: self-harm issues, language, and shonen-ai hints if you're looking for them, though they weren't intentional**

**AN: This is a "Last Resort" songfic. _Italics _are lyrics, of course. I have to give more thanks to Sintari, my beta, because she is so wonderfully nice to me and then I'm not afraid to post ï Anyway, as far as this lighter trick goes, I've done it, it hurts, and I don't recommend it. Heero does it in the fic b/c he's angsty, and I did it for the same reason, but I'm not trying to give SI recoverees any kind of tips. Just FYI, don't try this at home. **

_Cut into my life into pieces  
this is my last resort,  
Suffocation no breathing  
don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding  
this is my last resort _

Oh, to stare beyond this place, and float away, far, far away. To be somewhere else, and to be his own person again, and not have to worry about expectation and everyone else's happiness. To live his own life, and do whatever the fuck he wanted because it didn't really make a difference however you sliced it. To find his own way, make his own path and follow his own lead instead of taking orders. He sucked back another drag on his cigarette, feeling the nicotine rush into his lungs. It hurt, he realized, but not as much as living without it would. Duo had told him that it was good, and now they sat beside each other, silently smoking and watching as the sun set over the bay. As Heero smoked, he knew that this was what he wanted. He didn't want Duo to leave his side, didn't want to stop toking in all this tobacco. He wanted to smoke until his lungs burst, and he simply died because of it. He dragged again. Yes, he thought to himself, that would be perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"Heero?" He glanced up from where his eyes had been, watching the waves ripple across the shimmering ocean. He wondered how many real oceans there were, and how many of them had been created by stupid people who just wanted to have another place to stuff their greed. Still, he watched Duo. "What are you thinking about?"

_You._

He couldn't say that. It wasn't that he was obsessed with Duo or anything like that. He just... he didn't even know. There was something about the braided pilot that restored his faith in humanity, something in his smirking smile and his mischievous eyes. Duo had a very strange, subconscious philosophy: If you spend a moment of your life not having fun, you've wasted it. It was probably because of Duo that Heero hadn't just gone out back and shot himself right after the war. Oh, he'd thought about it, but he dreamt about it the way people dream about celebrities: beautiful, perfect in every way, and oh so appealing, yet just beyond his grasp.

"Hn?" A trademark response. Not that he cared all that much, it was just the kind of thing that people tend to note when they're making any kind of judgment on character, mannerism, etc.

"What are you thinking about?"

Heero shrugged, and dragged again. He knew what he was thinking about. It was what he always thought about, when his mind wasn't lingering on Duo. He flicked the lighter once or twice in his fingers, watching the orange flame glow in front of his eyes, blue licking its color at the base. _  
_

_Cut my life into pieces.  
I've reached my last resort.  
Suffocation no breathing  
don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding.  
Do you even care if I die pleading?_

"Bullshit," Duo replied. Heero stopped looking at him, watching the flame dance in front of his eyes. He could feel his palms growing sweaty, as the metal heated against his thumb. He had to hold on. He had to wait until he couldn't hold onto it anymore. "You're always thinking about something, Heero."

"Well, I'm not now," he answered huffily. Why did he keep lying, to Duo of all people? Duo was the only one who would understand this kind of thing, what it felt like to want to hurt yourself. He thought to himself about his legs, and how many times he'd pulled the lighter trick before. When people think "Perfect Soldier," they don't think "Repressed Hostility" or "Ticking Time Bomb." They think "Military Precision," perfection in every sense of the word. That, he determined, as he took one more drag, still watching the flame of the lighter, was what was wrong with society today.

"Yes, you are." Heero looked at him, letting the flame die instantly in his hand as he pulled his thumb away from the plastic lever that controlled the gas. "I can see it in your eyes." If he kept Duo's attention at his eyes, he wouldn't notice the hand that slid the lighter under his shirt, and pressed the hot metal against his flesh. He could already feel it, the metallic heat searing into his soft skin. He knew exactly how it would look when he pulled it away: an oblong rivet that leaked out puss when you broke the dead skin above it, surrounded by a circle of raised red skin. This was the kind of thing he lived for.

"Why do I have to be thinking?" he asked, as his elbow pulled backwards, yanked slowly by an invisible gravity that wanted that heat against his skin before it was too cold to do any good. It, this force, wanted to feel the pain, that shivering tingle, that made him have to bite back his lip and hold tight so that he didn't pull it away from his body. He knew what would happen after a day or two; it would turn into a gross greenish brown scab, but there would always be a lingering red circle.

"Because otherwise your life would be a waste." Heero would've responded, but suddenly, as unprepared as he was, the fiery brand of a Bic lighter seared against him. He bit on his bottom lip, hard. Duo watched his face contort. "Dude... what are you doing?"

Heero would have replied casually, probably with the word 'nothing,' but he hadn't let enough time pass between the stinging of the metal and the time in which he wanted to respond. So he didn't do anything, didn't speak, just waited. Duo reached for the hand that pressed against his hip, but Heero quickly cut him off with the wave of a cigarette inches from his nose. Duo was fast, though, faster than Heero had expected, and soon he found his wrist clenched tightly in the fist of a very astonished Duo.

"Heero... what the fuck?"

_Would it be wrong, would it be right  
if I took my life tonight,   
Chances are that I might  
Mutilation outta sight  
and I'm contemplating suicide_

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he answered, dropping the incriminating lighter instantly and sliding it across the concrete with his foot until it was buried behind his yellow sneaker.

"Prove it."

"How?"

"Show me your hip."

Heero rolled his eyes, trying to feign ignorance and act like Duo was an idiot. He rolled up the hem of his black T-shirt around the waistband, showing the other pilot the hip closest to him. Duo reached around him, and grabbed the other side of his shirt.

"Don't fuck around, Heero. Show me your other hip."

"Fuck you." He meant it. He needed Duo to mind his own goddamned business, and he would be a bastard to get it, if that was what it took. He had a feeling it would.

"Don't be an ass. If you don't have anything to hide, then show me your hip." The braided boy tugged at his shirt again, but Heero fought it down with a clamped elbow.

"I don't have to prove anything to you."

Duo spat the cigarette between his teeth onto the concrete, and Heero lost sight of the fight for a moment. He watched the pathetic white and tan stub roll off the dock and into the ocean, where it slipped out of sight as it extinguished, and the pathetic tendrils of smoke scarcely rose from its carcass. He swung one lanky black leg over Heero's lap, and pulled himself up, hips only inches from his own. With both hands, he curled his fingers around Heero's shirt until he had two thick fistfuls. Then, he yanked up as hard as he could. Heero's clamped elbows shot up under the unexpected pressure, and soon, the entire shirt had been lifted from his body. The pale skin before Duo shocked him, frightened him, and worried him. He dropped Heero's shirt to the ground beside them, and reached out with two gentle fingers.

"Oh my God... Heero."

_'Cause, I'm losing my sight, losing my mind  
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine  
Nothing's alright, nothing is fine  
I'm running and I'm crying_

"Why did you do all of this?" he asked, reaching forward, so that two fingers brushed one of the burn marks on his chest, just below his collarbone. They were everywhere, peppering his skin like masochistic acne. For some reason, Duo could feel a tear come to his eye when he touched Heero's soft skin. He hadn't expected the other boy to be without scars; after all, they had both been through a war, and Duo was far from perfect too. But there was something about Heero's scars, something about the self-inflicted burns that sent shivers down his spine. The new one, low on Heero's hip, was still reddening as the rivet began to take its shape. Heero didn't say anything. "Are there more?" Silence. "Do they get worse?" Still, the other boy's lips stayed pursed closed. He didn't know what to do. He was terrified; he was angry, and he wanted Duo to go away. But he wanted Duo's warmth against him, wanted to feel the slim warmth of the boy's legs against his own and wanted to see the caring in his eyes. But he didn't want Duo to cry. "Why?"

"Why? I don't know why, Duo," he answered softly. "I just... don't know." He looked down then, seeing a few of the red marks on his stomach. He could still feel the sting of his skin, trying to heal itself quickly. For some reason, this hurt more than the war had. This hurt more than all the people he'd killed, and the lives he'd taken. This hurt more because it was real. He'd hurt Duo. Duo, for Christ's sake! The epitome of all that was good in the world, and he'd just harmed him. But, Duo was smart; he knew better than to be brusque and harsh with Heero when he was in this kind of state. Instead, he wrapped his long arms around the brunette, and nested his ear against Heero's neck. The other boy returned his embrace, and for a while neither of them could move, except for Duo's slender fingers rubbing the bare skin of Heero's back.  
  
_I never realized I was spread too thin  
Till it was too late and I was empty within  
Hungry, feeding on my chaos and living in sin   
Downward spiral, where do I begin  
It all started when I lost my mother  
No love for myself and no love for another  
Searching to find a love upon a higher level  
Finding nothing but QUESTIONS AND DEVILS_

Duo pulled back then, and slid off of his best friend and partner in crime. He turned his shirt back right side out. Heero took it wordlessly, and let the soft cotton brush over his skin slowly. He didn't want to pull the cloth past his eyes and see what awaited him from Duo. Yet he did, and when he finally brushed all of his bangs out of his Prussian blue eyes, he could see that the braided boy was rolling up his sleeve. What the hell? Heero stared at him inquisitively, confusion painting his face. Duo clearly ignored this, and slid the black clothing farther up, illuminating the stark contrast of his pale skin with his choice of clothing. Slowly, Heero could see traces of a thick red line, that curved up, and formed the letter 'S.' Above it had been carved the letter 'D,' not too far above the elbow. Duo looked up at him, sadness fogging his usually ecstatic eyes.

"Duo... I... What is that?"

Duo glanced down at the scar, trying not to look at Heero as he said this. "It's a scar. I did it myself."

"DS?"

"It stands for Deathscythe. I was really sick of the war, Heero. It was stupid, but I did it anyway." He looked up finally, staring at the boy beside him. "What are you sick of?" He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes. First, he extended one to Heero, who tucked it between his lips and lit it easily. Then, Duo took one for himself, snagging Heero's electric green lighter to set his own aflame. He sucked back a relieving breath of nicotine, and blew a delicate smoke ring, curling his tongue inside his mouth. The cigarettes lay beside them, in their cardboard package with crinkling plastic as a sheath. Neither of them spoke after Duo, because neither of them knew what to say. Duo knew that Heero had to know the answer to this question; in fact, he probably already did. But, he couldn't help him anymore until he knew it too.

Finally, Heero answered him. His voice was soft and faint, and it lacked the strong confidence that he usually had. "Everything. Pretending to be somebody I'm not."

Duo slid one arm over the boy's shoulder, and dragged off his cigarette again. He didn't know why he liked smoking too much. Maybe it was because it gave him something to do with his hands while he tried to explain the world to the ignorant, instead of punching said ignorant in the face. Or maybe, it was simply because he liked having a prop, a crutch to lean his life upon. Whatever the reason, he did it like it was a religion. He pulled Heero against him, touching their heads together. With the hand that held the cigarette, he gestured out across the bay.

"What do you see?"  
  
_I can't go on living this way _  
_Cut into my life into pieces  
this is my last resort,  
Suffocation no breathing  
don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding  
this is my last resort__._

Heero stared out beyond them at the gently fading orb of the sun as it slipped down below the horizon. It was fading into purples and oranges, with blue just above it and a violent red tinting the water. "A sunset."

"Do you know what I see?"

Heero shook his head. He wanted to know.

"The flames of the Maxwell Church." Heero visibly jumped at that answer. It wasn't the response he'd been expecting. He pulled free of Duo's grasp slightly, enough to look at him and show him the puzzled expression that had plastered his face. "I lost my whole life in that one moment, Heero. I see those flames everywhere_." _He dragged off the cigarette, shrugging his arm off of Heero. Immediately, he missed its warmth, but didn't move to bring it back. Instead, he imitated Duo, dragging off his cigarette in the same fashion. Finally, the deep violet eyes turned back to him, filled with sadness. "I'm not happy. Don't make that mistake. However," he added, rising to his feet, "I am a firm believer in Fake It 'til You Make It." He stuck the cigarette between his lips and brushed his hands together, wiping off some of the concrete. It didn't work, as the grooves left red impressions in his hands. "Let's head back."

Heero couldn't do anything but nod. Had Duo just said what he thought he had? Could this mean...? Duo really would understand. Better than Heero thought.

"Duo..." he began softly. The chestnut haired boy flashed him a grin, and clapped one arm across his shoulders again as they began walking up the gravel road, back towards the safe house that they'd been set up with after the war.

"We all do things we don't want to, Hee-chan."

And they walked off, leaving stubs of cigarettes on the concrete behind them, the only trace of their conversation except what lingered in their minds.  
  
_'Cause, I'm losing my sight, losing my mind  
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine  
Nothing's alright, nothing is fine  
I'm running and I'm crying_

_I can't go on living this way_


End file.
